


Flightless

by GreyMichaela



Series: Never Ever [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff and Angst, I am a HORRIBLE PERSON, I just wanted to write fluff and cuddles, Instead I ended up torturing my babies, It all works out I promise, M/M, Some descriptions of violence/torture, This one actually has some plot, Where did all this angst come from?, wing!kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 12,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1370083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMichaela/pseuds/GreyMichaela
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean and Castiel have embarked on a relationship, but Castiel is hiding a very big secret.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> What the hell happened, anyway? A week ago I started out to write my very first fanfiction and now here I am nearly 25K later with practically a novella, complete with actual PLOT! I'm still placing the blame squarely on disheveledangelinatrenchcoat, who pushed and encouraged and beta'd until she was blue in the face and never once lost patience with my incoherent flailings.
> 
> Be warned; there is some description of violence within, although I tried to keep the gore to something of a minimum. The story picks up where Reciprocation left off.
> 
> NOTE: I went back and added a few things to Never Ever and Reciprocation to make them a little more compliant with this story. Hopefully they'll make better sense when tied to this now.

They spent the day in bed, not talking much, fingers tracing lazy patterns on each other’s skin.  The coffee that Dean had bought that morning grew stone cold on the dresser, but neither of them could be bothered to get out of bed to retrieve it.

When Dean’s phone rang, it startled them both.  Dean leaned over the edge of the mattress and dug in his discarded jeans, Cas’s hand warm on his hip. 

“Hey, little brother,” he said.

Sam’s voice sounded distant on the other end but Cas didn’t bother to try and listen in.  He was too relaxed to make the effort.  Every muscle in his body felt pleasantly exhausted and there was a lovely dull ache between his legs that made him smile a little every time he moved.  He could heal himself, but he didn’t want to. It felt too good, being claimed and taken over, used in every possible way.   He found himself wanting to savor it.  An oddly human emotion for an angel, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Dean hung up and tossed the phone on the nightstand, rolling over and draping an arm across Castiel’s bare stomach and pressing his lips to the angel’s shoulder.

“Sam’s on his way,” he said.  “Be here in a coupla hours.  Says he’s got a case for us, looks like there’s a werewolf in the area.” 

Castiel nodded.  “I will leave before he arrives,” he said.

“What?” Dean lifted his head. “Why?”

“I assumed you would want to be alone with your brother,” the angel said, feeling suddenly self-conscious.

“Well, you ‘assumed’ wrong,” Dean snorted, and Cas relaxed muscles he hadn’t realized he’d tensed.  “If you even _think_ about leaving, I’ll hunt your feathery ass down and bitch-slap you into the middle of next week.” He resumed his exploration of the skin on Castiel’s shoulder with his mouth, and the angel shivered, relaxing even more.

Until Dean jerked his head up again and Cas had to stifle a disappointed whimper. “Unless…you have somewhere to be?” Dean said, looking unsure.

Castiel shook his head.  “I can stay for a few days,” he said.  “Perhaps longer.” Now wasn’t the time to go into the reason he’d been able to come at Dean’s call in the first place. Especially because Dean’s lips were back on his skin, working their way down his arm and he was speaking between kisses.

“I don’t…usually…mm…have this much…sex in a twenty-four hour…period,” the hunter said, rolling onto his back and pulling Castiel on top of him. “You’ve got me as horny as a teenager.”

“Your refractory period is impressive,” Cas agreed, smiling down at the other man. “Perhaps we should take full advantage of that before your brother arrives.”

“Read my mind,” Dean breathed, and dragged the angel’s mouth down to meet his own.

Time blurred and slowed, narrowing to hot breath against sweat-damp skin, gasps and moans, the slide of skin, the caress of tongues, the nip of teeth.

All too soon Dean was shuddering, shaking apart in his angel’s arms, crying aloud as his orgasm tore through him.  Cas followed him over the edge, setting his teeth into Dean’s collarbone and groaning desperately as he spent himself on Dean’s stomach. 

Eventually Dean stretched luxuriantly.  “We should shower.  Actually put clothes on. Don’t wanna emotionally scar my poor delicate baby brother, after all.”  He patted Castiel, who grunted in response, face buried in his pillow. “Unless you want to zap us clean and clothed, that is?”

Cas shook his head a fraction.  “Attract too much attention,” he slurred.  “Not safe.”

Dean lifted an eyebrow.  “If you say so. Want to share the shower, conserve water?”

Castiel fixed him with one eye, not lifting his head.  “Considering the amount of orgasms you have had in the past day, I do not see how it could be physically possible for you to be propositioning me yet again.”

Dean stiffened, then rolled off the bed.  “Forget it,” he said over his shoulder, and disappeared into the bathroom.

Castiel considered.  Dean _hadn’t_ been asking for more sex.  It was true that he likely wouldn’t be able to perform sexually again for some time.  But knowing that, he’d still asked the angel to join him in the shower, which indicated… _oh_.  Cas sat up and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The shower went on as he slipped into the bathroom, pulling the plastic curtain aside and stepping into the tiny stall with Dean, who was staring at him.

“I told you I am not good at this,” Cas said.  The water streamed over Dean’s shoulders and misted in his short-cropped hair as he looked at the shorter man.

“Good at what?” he asked, tone wary.

Castiel lifted a shoulder.  “Relationships,” he said finally.  “I should have understood that you were asking for physical intimacy, not sex.”

Dean rolled his eyes.  “Dude, do you even _know_ how much like a girl you sound right now?”

Castiel stepped closer.  “Mock this if it makes you feel better, but I will not allow you to push me away so easily.” He cupped Dean’s face and kissed him, slow and lingering.

Dean was gripping Castiel’s shoulders when they pulled apart.  He swallowed hard, twice.

“I would like to shower with you, Dean,” Cas said, voice sober. 

Dean smiled at him.  “Good. That’s…good.”

They spent a lazy half hour washing each other, stealing kisses between lathering up and rinsing off.  Dean would never admit how much he enjoyed it, Castiel knew, but that didn’t matter.  He loved how the hunter smiled when he was truly happy; white teeth flashing, a spark in those bright green eyes.  On impulse, Castiel tickled him and Dean threw his head back in a shout of laughter even as he wriggled away.  Cas grinned and kissed him again, pinning the taller man’s hands to the wall, letting the hot water pour over them both.

The knock on the outer door froze them where they stood. 

“Dean, it’s me.  Open up.” Sam’s voice carried clearly through the thin plywood and Dean looked panicked.

“Just, um…just a sec!” he shouted, and turned to Cas.  “Zap yourself out of here, man, _now,_ get your clothes on, dry your hair, _hurry._ ”

Cas didn’t move and Dean’s panic mounted.  “The fuck, man?” he hissed, turning the water off and grabbing a towel. “Why isn’t your ass in gear?” He tripped getting out of the shower and only Castiel’s quick hand on his elbow saved him.

“I cannot… _zap_ …anywhere,” Castiel whispered. This wasn’t how he’d wanted to do this. “My abilities are temporarily…depleted.”

Dean narrowed his eyes at him, forgetting to dry himself off.  “What does that even…you know what, no.  We don’t have time for this.”  He tossed the other towel at the angel.  “You can explain later.  Right now, _get some fucking clothes on._ ”

Castiel grabbed his arm and Dean glared at him.  "I do not understand," the angel said, keeping his voice low. "You intimated earlier that you did not have a problem with your brother knowing about us. I know you did not say it in so many words, but..."

"I _don't_ have a problem with him knowing," Dean snarled.  "But _this_ is not how I want him finding out about us so could you _please_ get fucking dressed?"

Castiel obeyed, dragging his clothes on and ignoring the way they clung to his still damp skin. Dean was already out of the bathroom, hopping on one leg to pull his jeans on with his right hand and frantically toweling his hair dry with the other.

A heavy fist hit the door again.  “Dude, what’s taking so long?  Open the damn door already!”

Dean grabbed the handle and yanked it open, glaring at Sam.  “I was in the fucking shower, man, a _little_ patience would be nice.”

Sam snorted, pushing past him into the room.  “Whatever.   We both know -” He stopped dead, staring at Castiel just emerging from the bathroom, hair still wet and clothes sticking to him. His eyes flickered back to Dean, standing at the door with guilt written all over his face.

Cas cleared his throat.  “Sam -”

Sam held up a hand, not looking away from his brother.  “Don’t.”

Dean chewed on his lip.  Sam’s entire body was tense, shock in every line, but he said nothing, just stared at him.

“I can explain,” Dean said, and winced.  Could he _be_ more of a walking cliché?

Without a word, Sam walked back out the door, leaving Dean and Castiel staring at each other.   A few seconds later, he reappeared.  Grabbing Dean by the front of his t-shirt, he fixed Castiel with a glare.

“You? _Stay. Here._ ”  Then he left again, dragging a hapless Dean behind him.  Castiel watched them go, feeling helpless.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Dean managed to dislodge Sam’s fist halfway across the parking lot, staggering sideways. “Fuck’s  _sake,_  man, I’m not a friggin’ child.  Stop treating me like one!”

Sam glared at him.  “Do you want to do this in the parking lot or in the diner where I can probably stop myself from decking your sorry ass?”

Dean scowled back and started walking again.  They pushed through the diner’s door and a curvy waitress smiled at them, handing them menus.

Dean slid into the booth, feeling fifteen again.  This was worse than the time their dad had caught him masturbating to the JC Penney’s lingerie catalog.  Sam sat down across from him and folded his hands on the table.

“So.”

“So,” Dean echoed.  “How did your bangfest with Diana go?”

“Oh no,” Sam said.  “This is not about me. We are not talking about my sexual conquests until we talk about  _yours._ ”

Dean set his jaw and glared mulishly.

Sam leaned across the table.  “You and  _Cas_?  Have you gone completely  _insane_?”

“Oh what, like you haven’t been making hints and teasing me about this for fucking  _months?_   You might as well have taken out a neon sign telling me to get busy!”

“Joking about it and it actually happening are two  _very_ different things, Dean.  This is  _Cas_ we’re talking about here. This is a big deal, dammit!”

“Is this because he’s a guy?” Dean shot back.  He was gripping the table so tightly his knuckles were white.

Sam jerked back.  “What?  _No_! It’s because he’s an  _angel_ , you idiot!  Do you have any idea what this could be doing to him?”

Dean flinched before he could stop himself.  “What’s that supposed to mean?  You think I’m going to…infect him or something?” 

“No, you moron,” Sam hissed.  “I’m worried because the longer Cas spends down here with us, the more human he’ll become. What if he loses his grace? Do you really want to do that to him, condemn him to life as a human?”

A familiar gravelly voice interrupted before Dean could answer. “Thank you for your concern, Sam, but it is not necessary.   I will not lose my grace simply by associating with Dean.”

Cas stood in front of their booth, looking disheveled and his eyes tense, but otherwise in perfect control of himself.  Dean slid over on the bench and the angel sat down, fixing his eyes on Sam, who was clenching his jaw.

“I told you to stay in the room,” the lanky man said, but Castiel cut him off.

“I am not a child, Sam, nor am I yours to order around.  Neither is your brother.  We made a mutual decision and I for one do not regret it.”

Dean’s hand found the angel’s, resting in his lap, and gripped it. Cas’s face didn’t change, but he squeezed Dean’s fingers tightly.

“Besides,” he continued, “It is a moot point, as I have been cast out of Heaven.”

Silence fell. Both Winchesters stared at the angel sitting calmly at the table as if he’d commented on the nice weather they’d been having.

Sam found his voice first.  “What do you mean, ‘cast out’?” 

Dean said nothing, still stunned.

Cas lifted a shoulder.  “I mean I am no longer part of the Heavenly Host.  I have been…removed.”

“But you still have your grace?” Sam asked.

The waitress finally showed up, looking frazzled around the edges. “Sorry about the wait, boys,” she said cheerfully.  “Busy morning. Coffee?”

Sam nodded without looking away from Castiel, who gazed calmly back. Dean couldn’t move.

The waitress looked between them, confused, but finally shrugged and left.

“Yes, I still have my grace,” Cas said.  “But when they stripped me of my rank and wings, I…”  His mouth twisted.  “I am still healing from the injuries.  And will be for several more weeks, if not more.  Until then, I am somewhat stronger than a human and able to heal small cuts or bruises, but otherwise I am the same as you.  I am also dealing with a fair amount of pain, but nothing that I cannot handle.”

Dean was shattering apart on the inside.  Dimly he was aware that he was holding Cas’s hand so hard that he was probably hurting him, but Cas didn’t pull away and Dean was grateful for that.

The waitress appeared with the coffee and handed out mugs.  “Anything to eat?” she asked.

Sam shook his head.  “Not right now,” he said, voice clipped.

“…okay,” the woman said, and left, casting a puzzled look back over her shoulder at them.

“Who was it?” Dean said.  His voice was harsh and jagged and Sam winced, looking at him with something dangerously close to sympathy in his eyes.

Cas shifted a little in his seat and didn’t answer.

 _“Who was it?”_ Dean said again.

Cas sighed and pulled his hand away.  “It was Michael,” he finally said.  He fixed his gaze on the coffee in front of him as if it held the secrets of the universe.

“I’ll kill him,” Dean said.  His voice was thick with rage.

At that, Cas looked up, alarmed.  “Dean,  _no._   You can’t kill an archangel!  He could flatten you like a bug with a snap of his fingers, and he would not hesitate to do so if he thought you were a threat.”

“I don’t care,” Dean snarled.  “I’m going to kill the fucker.  You can take that to the bank.”

Cas tilted his head. “Which bank?”

Sam interrupted before Dean could reply, which was probably a mercy. “We’re not asking the important question here.   _Why,_ Cas?  Why did he…cast you out?  Why not just kill you?”

Cas looked back up at Sam, who was clutching his coffee cup in both hands. Dean could see the stress trembling outward from those huge mitts, and the line between Sam’s eyebrows that appeared when he was upset no matter how smooth he tried to keep his face.

“Michael felt that I was being…unduly influenced,” Cas said finally. His voice was dull, hopeless, and Dean ached inside.  “He demanded that I…it doesn’t matter.  I refused. I thought he would kill me at first; I’ve never seen him so angry.  But then he said I would better serve as an example of what happens to traitors. He had his captains sever my wings and cast me to earth.  He left me my grace because he said he wanted me to have a very long life in which to ponder the effects of my disobedience.”

Dean covered his face, suddenly shaking.  Him. Cas had fallen for him. It was his fault. Suddenly he had to get out, get away. “Cas, move,” he whispered.

Castiel just looked at him.  Dean put a hand on the angel’s shoulder and shoved, hard.  Cas slid across the slick vinyl and landed in an undignified sprawl on the floor, but Dean didn’t stop to see the expression on his face. He hurled himself out of the booth and was out of the diner and halfway across the parking lot before Sam even managed to get to his feet.

He made it into the thick woods that backed up to the motel before he fell to his knees, retching helplessly.  He dug his fingers into the soft loam, vomiting over and over, knowing there were tears streaming down his face and unable to do anything about them.

He didn’t know how long he crouched there.  When his stomach was empty, he crawled a few feet away and curled up on his side in the fetal position.   _Your fault, all your fault_ was running through his head in a constant loop.   _Worthless, scarred, broken.  Everyone that loves you get hurt._   He couldn’t stop imagining the agonizing pain Castiel had been in, couldn’t help but see him stretched out on the ground while an angel with a flaming sword stood over him, extending Castiel’s wing by force and - Dean squeezed his eyes shut and sobbed into his sleeve.  _Your fault, all your fault.  And you had sex with him, when he was injured and in horrible pain, touched him all over, probably hurt him so much more.  Worthless, all your fault._

The hand on his back startled him upright, fists coming up instinctively. Sam knelt over him, sorrow on his angular features. 

“Sammy,” Dean whispered brokenly.  “It’s my fault. It happened because of me. Why doesn’t he hate me?”

Sam didn’t answer.  Instead he folded his big brother into his embrace, rocking him wordlessly back and forth as Dean wept into his flannel shirt. 

When it was over, Dean pushed away, swiping at his face.  Sam sat back on his heels, saying nothing.

“Where is he?” Dean asked.

“Back at the motel.  He…needed rest.”

Dean stood up, wavering a little.  The sun was going down and he hadn’t eaten since early that morning, but he could handle a little lightheadedness.  He needed to see Castiel.  Now.

Sam followed him back through the woods, a gangling shadow that hovered a little too close. Dean didn’t mind, though; he wouldn’t admit it, but it made him feel much better knowing the moose literally had his back.

He hesitated at the motel door, hand raised as if to knock.

“Go in, you idiot,” Sam said.  “ _Talk_ to him.”

Dean cast him a slightly panicked look.  Sam rolled his eyes and opened the door for him, shoving him inside and pulling it shut behind him in one smooth motion.

Dean stumbled over the rug, catching himself before he went headlong. Straightening, he looked up. Castiel was stretched out on the bed on his stomach, head pillowed on his arms.  His shoes and coat were still on, his eyes closed but moving restlessly under his lids as he slept.  Somehow Dean’s less than graceful entrance hadn’t woken him. 

Dean crept closer.  Castiel twitched, tensing, and whimpered under his breath.  Dean froze.   _Nightmare._   He recognized the signs, having suffered them often enough himself. The last thing Cas needed was to be woken suddenly. 

Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, hardly daring to breathe, unsure what to do. Castiel turned on his side, pulling his legs up, and moaned.  “Please, Michael. Please…don’t do this.”

Dean swallowed hard around the lump in his throat and the simultaneous rage that made him want to smash something.  He had to stop this, fix this somehow.

Castiel tensed again, his muscles going whipcord taut.  Dean was struck by sudden inspiration and yanked his t-shirt off over his head.  It was his favorite old AC/DC shirt, bought at a concert when Dean had been only sixteen. The ink was faded, the cotton so soft and worn it couldn’t even wrinkle anymore, and more importantly, it smelled like Dean.

Bundling it up, Dean pushed it gently under Castiel’s head, right up against the angel’s nose. 

Castiel took a deep breath and then another, turning his face into the t-shirt and rubbing against it like a cat.  The tension began to leach out of him like water from a drain, leaving him limp against the mattress.

Dean watched as the angel’s dark lashes fluttered against his cheeks and finally lifted. Awareness crept back in slowly.

“Dean,” he said.

Try as he might, Dean couldn’t think of anything to say. 

Castiel stirred and tried to push himself upright but Dean stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.  “Don’t move,” he said.

“I’m alright,” Cas said, but his voice was weak and he didn’t struggle.

Dean snorted in spite of himself.  “Sure you are. Don’t move or I’ll hold you down.”

Cas slanted a dark look up at him but said nothing more.

Dean sighed and stood up.  Cas looked alarmed and tried one more time to get up and Dean grabbed him by both shoulders and held him down without effort.  “Dammit, Cas,  _listen_ to me for once!”

“Don’t…leave,” Cas choked out.  “Please don’t leave…me…”

“I’m  _not_ , you great idiot,” Dean managed.  He wasn’t crying. He  _wasn’t._  Careful of Castiel’s back, he stretched out alongside him, draping a leg over both of Cas’s. The angel stilled immediately, muscles hard as rock under Dean’s limbs.  

Dean began running his hand up and down Cas’s arm.  The trench coat was in his way but he kept at it, his rhythm even and calm. Shoulder to wrist, wrist to shoulder.

Castiel shivered but began to relax again, slowly subsiding back into calm.

“I was just going to take your shoes off,” Dean said.  “Figured it’d be easier to sleep without ‘em.”

Cas closed his eyes and then fractionally nodded.  Dean sat up, scooting closer to the prone man so that their hips were in contact as he leaned forward and tugged his shoes off, letting them fall with a  _thunk_  to the floor. Then he lay down on his side again, watching Castiel’s face. 

“How badly does it hurt?” he whispered.

The angel’s brows drew together as if considering.  “It is more of a…metaphysical ache,” he finally said.  “It hurts bone-deep, but I can shut it out for brief periods of time.  You will not see anything if you look, though.  Your senses cannot perceive my wings anyway.”

“Will it hurt to touch you?”

Cas shook his head against the t-shirt.   “It will not. Please…Dean, please don’t stop touching me.  It seems to be the only thing that keeps the pain at bay for any length of time.  When your hands are on me, I can focus.”

Dean nodded. “I can do that.” His voice was husky but he kept it steady.  “I think it might be easier without the coat, though.”

He helped the angel out of his outer layers, leaving him in a thin white t-shirt and pants, before insisting he lie back down.  They lay on their sides and Dean tangled their fingers together, pressing his other hand flat against Cas’s chest.

Cas’s eyes fluttered shut and he took a deep breath, sighing in relief.

“When will it get better?” Dean asked, dreading the answer.

“I don’t know,” Cas admitted.  “Probably several weeks at least.”  He opened his eyes, looking alarmed.  “Dean, you have a job. You have to go. Sam needs you.” He tried to let go of Dean’s hand but Dean just held on tighter. 

“I’m not going anywhere, and if you think I am, you’re dumber than I thought.” His voice was flat, brooking no argument.

Cas searched his face.  “But Sam…”

“Sam can handle a werewolf or two on his own.  If he needs help, Rufus isn’t far away.  But you’re stuck with me, so you might as well stop fighting it.”

Cas took a deep shuddering breath and let it out in a rush.  His fingers relaxed and Dean resumed petting his arm. Shoulder to wrist, wrist to shoulder. Without the coat in the way, he had a lot more skin to play with. 

“So until you heal, the slow way, you won’t be able to zap yourself or anyone else anywhere?”

Cas shook his head and pushed his nose farther into Dean’s shirt, still bunched up on his pillow.  “Can heal…little things. But it…draws attention.” His voice was slurring, exhaustion creeping up on him.  “Shouldn’t use it if…don’t have to.  Not until…strong enough to…fight.”

“How did you hide this from me?” Dean asked.

Castiel opened one eye and despite everything, a little amusement crept in. “We’ve been doing…a lot of…touching.”

Sleep overtook him and Dean watched as it dragged him under, limbs relaxing like spaghetti.

A knock at the door had him rolling to his feet without letting go of Cas’s hand, picking up the angel blade with his free hand.   _Stupid,_  he chided himself,  _as if anything here to kill Cas would be polite enough to knock._ But he held onto the blade, just in case.

“It’s me, dude,” Sam said, and Dean relaxed. 

“Come in,” he said quietly, and Sam opened the door and slipped inside.

He stood still, assessing the situation, brow furrowed.  Cas stretched out on the bed, sleeping in utter exhaustion, Dean standing next to him, angel blade in one hand and Cas’s hand in his other.

Dean glanced down at the blade and set it down on the nightstand before sitting back on the bed next to the sleeping angel, scooting so that his back was against the wall and Cas’s arm was draped across his lap.

Sam soft-footed it to the chair near the window and carried it close enough to Dean that they could talk in a whisper.

“How is he?” he asked.

Dean shrugged.  “Shitty, apparently. He’s in a lot of pain. Touching me seems to help keep it at bay somehow, though, so I’m sorry but you’re going to have to go on this hunt without me.”

Sam nodded. “Rufus is nearby in any case. If I need backup he can be here in less than an hour.  What about you? Do you need anything?”

“Some food would be nice,” Dean admitted.  He was running his hand up and down Cas’s arm again, he realized, but he couldn’t seem to stop.  He looked at Sam as if daring him to say something, but his little brother just arched a brow and stayed quiet.

“Where’s the werewolf sign cropping up, anyway?”

“Bethesda. So only about half an hour away. I can be back here within the hour if you need me.”

“Sounds good. Just get me a couple of cheeseburgers before you hit the road, okay?  I’m starving.”

Sam leaned forward suddenly.  “Dean.”

Startled, Dean met his eyes.

“You know I didn’t mean to hurt you, earlier.  I was – still am – worried about you.  I don’t want to see you hurt.  But…I can also see how much he means to you.  If it’s worth anything, you have my blessing.”

Dean’s throat was suddenly tight.  He was  _definitely_ growing girl parts, what with all this crying he was doing lately.

Sam stood up, touching Dean’s shoulder.  “Hang onto him.  Literally  _and_ , oh you know what I mean.  I’ll be back with your food soon.”  The door closed behind him and Dean was alone with Castiel again, who was still sleeping, his face smooshed so far into Dean’s t-shirt that Dean wasn’t sure how the angel was managing to breathe at all. It wasn’t adorable at all, Dean told himself sternly, then sighed.  He had it bad; that was all there was to it.


	3. Chapter 3

  
Sam rented the room next door and left early the next morning, before the sun was up.  He took the Impala, promising to keep her safe and send Dean regular updates of his progress.

Cas was still out cold, so Dean decided to experiment a little.  He needed to know how far he could go before the pain came back. Despite having been just about as intimate as it was possible to be with the angel, he didn’t much relish the thought of using the bathroom with Cas attached to his wrist.

So he started with letting go of Cas’s hand, seeing how long it took before the angel started tensing and moving restlessly in his sleep.  He had it up to about two minutes at a stretch when those blue eyes opened.

“How are you feeling?” Dean said immediately, taking his hand again.

Cas took stock, rolling onto his side.  “Perhaps a little better,” he decided.  “How are you?”

“Me?” Dean looked startled. “I’m fine.  Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Because you pushed me off a bench yesterday and ran away to hide in the woods,” Cas said, his voice calm and not at all accusatory.

Oh right. That.  Dean shrugged, aiming for nonchalance and probably missing by several miles.  “Momentary freak-out,” he said. “Won’t happen again.”

Castiel sat up against the wall, folding himself cross-legged and tugging at Dean’s arm until he was turned around, leaning up against the angel, half in his lap.

Dean considered.  This was new. And not unpleasant, for all that Cas didn’t have the curves he was used to cuddling with.  The angel’s heart thumped steadily in Dean’s ear and both arms were wrapped around his chest.

“All right?” he said in Dean’s ear, and the hunter shivered.  That deep voice resonated through his chest and into his bones.

He didn’t trust himself to speak, so he just nodded. 

“Good. Now shut up and listen.

“Michael is gearing up for war.  He is engaged in strategy and defense, long-term planning for battles that he believes Lucifer will wage with him.  He has no time for an angel who is gone as often as not, down on the Earth that Michael sees as nothing more than a massive battleground.  He needs obedience, absolute and unthinking. An angel that is not on duty is a liability, a symbol of disruption.”

Dean wasn’t breathing.  Castiel’s fingers flexed across his still bare chest, dragging lightly through the hair.

“So when he told me I had to stop helping you, to stop coming when you called, I refused. I told him you were important, that you needed me, and I couldn’t abandon you.”

Castiel took a deep breath and Dean wrapped his fingers around the angel’s wrists, holding loosely.

“He gave me one more chance.  He knows you’re important too, you see.  He has something in mind for you, but I do not know what, and it didn’t involve me. Not knowing made me uneasy, and I told him I would not leave you.

“That’s when he passed sentence on me.  Four seraphs held me down while Michael took my wings.”  Cas’s voice was flat, emotionless, but Dean could feel him trembling. He squeezed the angel’s wrists gently, swallowing hard.

“When he was…done…he cast me from Heaven.  He said I was the warning to others, and he would have the obedience he demanded thanks to me, one way or the other.”

Dean found his voice.  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered.

He felt lips brush against his hair.  “You have nothing to be sorry about,” Cas murmured.  “I do not regret my decision.”

Dean jerked away, scrambling to his knees to face him.  “But  _I do,_ ” he snapped. “Can’t you see that? You gave up  _everything_ for me.  How am I supposed to not feel guilty about that?  You had Heaven, you had your family.  You had everything, and now you have  _nothing._ I don’t understand!”

Cas’s face was tightening with the effort of holding back the pain, but he did nothing until Dean fell silent, panting and feeling a little ashamed of himself.

Only then did Cas move forward, cupping Dean’s face in his warm hands. “I have  _you_. There is nothing more I need, nothing more I could ever want.”

Dean closed his eyes, feeling the words soaking into his soul like rain on dry, cracked ground.  “I don’t deserve this,” he said.

Cas kissed him, slow and achingly sweet.  “Shut up,” he said against the hunter’s lips, “And kiss me.”

They spent the rest of the day lounging in bed, Dean between Castiel’s legs, his back to the angel’s chest, watching terrible daytime TV together. Dean got a kick out of watching his angel more than the television, as he did that head-tilt of his trying to comprehend the actions of the people on Jerry Springer.

“Dude, stop trying,” Dean finally said, amused.  “You will never understand them and you’ll give yourself an aneurysm if you keep up that level of brain activity.”

Cas bent his head and planted his lips on Dean’s neck.  Dean shivered and cupped the back of the angel’s head as he nibbled his way down to Dean’s collarbone and the marks he’d put there the day before.

But when he tried to slide his hands inside Dean’s pants, the hunter’s hands were there, an immovable object stopping him from his goal.

Cas growled in frustration, trying to get past.  Dean stopped him again, rolling his head back on the angel’s chest to look up into his face. 

“Not until you’re better,” he said, and there was a note of finality to his voice. “Not until I can let go of you for at least an hour at a time.  You’re still the walking wounded, no matter how well you hid it from me before, and I’m not going to let you needlessly expend energy your body needs to heal.”

“It’s not needless,” Cas protested, and the hunter  _smiled._

“Maybe not, but it still isn’t happening, so give it up.  I’ll kiss you all you want, but no sex until you’re better.”

Cas dropped his hands and let his head fall back against the wall with a solid thud. Dean was up on his knees and straddling him before he had a chance to move.

“Don’t sulk,” Dean breathed against his jaw, and Cas shivered.  “Nobody likes a sulky angel.”

“I don’t  _sulk_ ,” Castiel protested, but he forgot what he was going to say next when Dean’s lips covered his.

Long, aching minutes later, Dean pulled away enough to rub a thumb over Cas’s kiss-swollen lower lip.  Cas blinked up at him, dazed.

“So now I know how to stop you from pouting,” Dean mused as if to himself, and Cas scowled.

“I definitely do  _not_ pout,” he said sharply, and Dean laughed deep in his throat, kissing him again.

 

They were still in bed when Sam walked in that evening, although Dean had eventually found another shirt and put it on, over Castiel’s muttered complaints.

Sam reeled back, a hand over his eyes.  “Oh my  _God_ , put a sock on the door or  _something!_ ” he said.

Dean snorted, not moving.  “Shut up and close the door, it’s cold out there.”

Sam obeyed, kicking his shoes off and collapsing in the chair still next to the bed. “Well, that was a shitstorm of a day,” he said, staring at the ceiling.

Dean sat up, a hand still on Castiel’s arm.  “No luck?”

“Less than none. Maybe I read it wrong. Maybe it’s just a stupid dog.”

“Doubt it,” Dean said.  “Since when have you ever gotten a case wrong?”  He stretched, yawning, and scooted over a bit so Cas could sit up next to him, their legs pressed together in a long, warm line from hip to knee.

Sam rubbed his face.  “Well, whatever. I didn’t find anything. I’ll go back tomorrow, try again.” He sat up a little and looked at Cas. “How you doing, man?”

“Better,” Cas said.  “Dean’s touch helps.”

Sam winced. “I don’t need to hear the details, dude.”  He turned to Dean. “When’s the last time you ate?”

“Uh…when you brought me breakfast this morning,” Dean said.

Sam scowled and stood.  “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“Don’t forget the pie!” Dean called after him.

The door slamming was his only answer.

“You should shower, Dean,” Cas said.

“Are you saying I stink?” Dean said, bumping Cas’s shoulder with his own.

Cas frowned. “Not at all – oh. You’re teasing me. No, Dean, you do not stink. I just thought you would feel better if you were clean.”

“It’s not a bad idea,” Dean admitted.  “But I don’t think Sam wants to walk in on us in the shower again, especially after how it turned out last time.  And you’re not up to being left just yet, are you?”

“I am much improved,” Cas said.  “I think I can survive you being away from me for a little while, if you don’t take too long.”

Dean looked at him thoughtfully.  The angel met his eyes, face calm. 

“All right,” Dean said.  “A shower sounds good.” He patted Castiel’s thigh and stood up, stretching again.  “I’ll make it fast.”

It was probably one of the quickest showers he’d ever taken, but it still took more time than he liked.  He glanced in the mirror but decided not to shave.  Cas seemed to appreciate his stubble, anyway.  He stepped out of the bathroom and his heart stopped at the sight of the empty room.

“Cas?”

A bitten off moan answered him and he dashed forward.  Castiel lay on the floor on the far side of the bed, curled in a tight ball.

“ _Shit.”_   Dean fell on his knees next to the angel, gripping him by the arms. Cas was shaking, face white. “Oh God, oh God I’m sorry, Cas, I’m so sorry.”  Dean was babbling, he knew that, but he couldn’t seem to make himself stop.

“Can’t…can’t make…it stop…”  The angel’s teeth were chattering with the force of the spasms that wracked his entire body.

“What can I do?” Dean demanded.  He was still clinging to Cas’s arms but it didn’t seem to be helping.

“Hold…me…” Cas whispered, eyes pleading.

Dean didn’t hesitate, dragging the shivering angel into his arms, wrapping him up tight.  He pressed his face against Cas’s hair, closing his eyes and fighting the rage and helplessness that welled within him.  A quick death was much too good for Michael.

Slowly Cas’s trembling began to ease and he took a deep breath. His muscles lost the worst of the tension and he tried to lift his head. 

“I’m sorry,” he rasped.

Dean huffed a humorless laugh against Cas’s cheek.  “You don’t have  _anything_ to be sorry about, you idiot.  I shouldn’t have tried to leave you.  I thought you’d be better by now, is all.”

“I think it has been building, like water behind a dam,” Cas said, his voice scratchy with exhaustion.  “When you left, it overwhelmed me and I could not hold it back any longer.”

The door opened and Sam stopped dead.  “What…is he okay?”

Dean just shook his head, not trusting his voice.  Sam crouched next to him, peering into Cas’s face.  Whatever he saw didn’t seem to reassure him; he shot Dean a troubled look before handing him the bag of food. 

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

Cas shook his head, limp with exhaustion.  “Dean is…already doing it.  Thank you, Sam.”

Sam reached out, a hand above Cas’s shoulder as if about to pat him and then thinking better of it.  Instead he stood up. “Anything good on TV?” he said, voice as casual as possible.

Dean could have kissed him.  “Can you stand up?” he asked Cas in a low voice.  “You’d feel better on the bed.”

“I can try,” the angel said.  Halfway up, though, his legs gave out and he toppled back, Dean breaking his fall and Cas's head lolling against Dean’s chest.

“Sam,” Dean gasped.  “ _Help._ ”

His brother leaped to obey and together they hefted the semi-conscious angel onto the bed. Dean pulled the pillows into position so he was leaning back against the wall and they both tugged and shoved until Castiel was draped halfway across him, as much skin in contact as possible.

Sam stood back, surveying them. 

“Not a word,” Dean said, glaring at him.

Sam lifted his hands but Dean didn’t miss the smile that flickered across his lips. Flopping into the chair, he stretched out his mile-long legs.  “You gonna eat or what?”

Dean’s stomach growled, reminding him forcefully that he hadn’t eaten in far too long, and Sam smiled again and handed him the food.

They spent the rest of the evening in a companionable silence, watching whatever happened to be on the television.  Cas didn’t move, eyes closed, limp in Dean’s arms. 

Finally Sam yawned and turned off the TV set.  “I’m gonna get another early start tomorrow, see if I can find any more clues.”

“I’m sorry I can’t go with you,” Dean said. 

“You’ve got more important things to do,” Sam said.  “I’ll bring you some breakfast before I hit the road.  ‘Night.”  He flicked off the light as he left, and Dean was alone in the darkness with an angel asleep in his arms.

He hadn’t  _done_ anything all day, he shouldn’t be tired, but he found himself fighting a jaw-cracking yawn. Succumbing to the temptation, he slithered down in the bed until he was prone.  Cas murmured in his sleep and curled himself tighter against Dean’s side.


	4. Chapter 4

The next day passed uneventfully.  They ventured to the diner for lunch, sitting side by side with their legs pressed together.  Cas spent the afternoon dozing with his arm draped across Dean’s lap as Dean did research on his computer.  It was all very peaceful and Dean was pretty sure his brain was going to start leaking out his ears any minute.

He didn’t hear from Sam all day, which didn’t register at first. A little tendril of worry snuck in when sunset came, though, and Sam still hadn’t called or texted. Dean dialed Sam’s number and listened as it went to voicemail.  He tried again; same result.  He hung up and sent a text.    **Call me, dammit.**

He waited, growing progressively twitchier.  Cas woke up the seventeenth time Dean checked his phone and found nothing there.

“What’s wrong?” the angel asked.

“Sam’s not answering.  Should’ve been back by now.  Something’s wrong.” Dean itched to stand up and pace, but Cas had a warm hand on his thigh, keeping him in place.

Cas sat up, hair tousled.  Even in the middle of his worry, Dean felt the urge to kiss the angel’s sleepy mouth, but he stopped himself, instead setting the phone down on the nightstand and sighing.

“Maybe he’s met a girl,” Cas suggested.

“You think he’s off boning some chick when he’s supposed to be hunting down fanged furries?” Dean thought about it. “It’s not…completely outside the realm of possibility, I guess, but I doubt it.”

“Give it a few hours,” Castiel said.  “If he still doesn’t answer, then we’ll start looking for him.”

Dean sighed and lay back on the pillows, hands behind his head.  After a moment Cas lay down next to him.

“I’m sure your brother is fine,” he said.

Dean said nothing, but he squeezed the angel’s shoulder. 

The next two hours were tense and miserable, with Dean checking his phone obsessively. Finally he couldn’t stand it any longer. He opened his laptop and pulling up the cellphone locator service.  There. Sam’s phone was on the outskirts of Bethesda and it hadn’t moved in awhile.  Dean pulled up Google Earth and took a hard look at the neighborhood. It looked pretty sketchy. Werewolf den was looking more likely than Sam getting laid.

“You should go,” Cas said, making Dean jump.

“What? No!  I’m not leaving you, and you’re in no shape to wade into a turf war with werewolves.”

“I’m much better,” the angel said.  “I can handle you being gone for awhile, I think.”

“You  _think?_   No.  Not good enough. We don’t  _know_ Sam’s in trouble and until I do, I’m not going to go tear-assing off and leave you behind in agony.”  Dean glared at Cas, who sighed.

“I am only saying…”

“I know what you’re saying,” Dean interrupted.  “And you can  _stop_ saying it, got me?”

Castiel lifted his hands in a placating gesture and silence fell.

Neither of them got any sleep that night.  Dean was as tense as piano wire, twitching at every noise, and when his phone rang just before sunrise he nearly fell off the bed lunging for it.

“ _Sam?_ ”

“Dean…Dean, I’m in trouble.”  Sam’s voice was low and Dean had to strain to hear.

“Where are you?”  Dean was so strung up he was practically vibrating.

“Outside Bethesda,” Sam whispered.  “I’m holed up in a basement.  They can’t get in, but I can’t get out.  I tried Rufus but he’s not answering.  Dean, there’s at least eight of them.”

_Eight werewolves…_ Dean’s mind spun and he cast a helpless look at Cas, kneeling next to him.

Cas fixed him with a steady gaze.  “You have to go,” he said quietly.

Dean closed his eyes, then nodded.  “Give me the address, Sam, I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

He scribbled the address on the notepad in the nightstand drawer, then he hung up and grabbed his boots, shoving them on.   Cas watched him get ready, sliding his gun into its holster and throwing his jacket on. 

Only then did Dean turn back to the bed and its occupant.  Cas smiled up at him.  Dean reached out and cupped the angel’s face in both hands. “Are you sure?” he asked.

Cas nodded. “I will not die,” he said firmly. “Even if the pain returns, I will survive it.  Now go.”

Dean leaned down and kissed him, lingering against his lips for a soft, aching moment before tearing himself away and disappearing out the door.

 

He hotwired the first halfway reliable vehicle he found, sending a mental apology to the owner.  The whole way to the city, fear and worry beat frantic wings inside his skull.   _Sam Cas Sam Cas Sam,_ endlessly repeating.  He made it in record time, grateful that any cops on highway duty were apparently napping or looking the other way.

He spotted the Impala several blocks away from where Sam was hiding. Breathing a sigh of relief, he popped the trunk and loaded up on weapons and ammo.  The neighborhood offered little in the way of natural cover. The yards were postage-stamp sized and mostly bare dirt, and only a few scraggly trees dotted the landscape. No signs of life anywhere. If actual people lived here, they were being smart enough to keep their heads down.

Fuck it. Every mutt in a two mile radius probably knew he was there.  Dean slung the shotgun over his shoulder and strode down the sidewalk like he was out for a Sunday stroll. 

He got to the house Sam had described and hesitated.  He still hadn’t seen a damn thing, and he was about to jump out of his skin with every tiny noise he heard.  Eyeballing a suspicious shrub in the front yard, Dean sidled up to the door and tried the handle.  It swung open and he slipped inside, shotgun at the ready.  All was dark and still within. 

Dean cat-footed it down the hall to the basement door, right where Sam had said it would be. He tried the knob, but it wouldn’t turn. “Sam,” he called quietly, “It’s me. It’s clear, come on, let’s go.”

He was so busy listening to Sam’s footsteps coming up the stairs and the doorknob beginning to turn that he was completely unprepared for the heavy weight that hit him from behind and slammed him into the opening door.

Dean and Sam fell down the stairs in a tangle of arms and legs, Dean twisting to try and get out from under the snapping, snarling beast that rode him down. Claws sank deep into his shoulder and he barely stifled a scream.  He’d dropped the shotgun with the shock of the impact, but he managed to slam an elbow into the ribs of the creature, driving the air from it with a savage grunt and dislodging it just enough for him to shove his silver blade home in its throat.

Hot blood gushed over them both and Dean heaved until he’d shoved it off enough to get on his feet and stumble back up the stairs, slamming the door shut and throwing the deadbolts before leaning against the wood and gasping for air. Another body hit the door with a heavy thud and wood splintered under huge claws.

Sam lay on his back on the cement, covered in blood and glaring up at his brother. “Did you miss the part where it’s a  _trap,_  you fucking idiot?”

Dean slid down the door to sit on the top step, still struggling to breathe. Blood was coursing down his arm, streaking his jacket, which hung in shreds.  “Son of a bitch,” he growled to himself, dragging it off and hissing when his shoulder protested.  “He  _had_ to screw with my jacket.” He was starting to feel lightheaded.  _Blood loss.  Great._

Sam was suddenly in front of him, looking at Dean’s shoulder, probing with careful fingers and muttering under his breath.  “Fucking  _moron,_  walk in here and get yourself killed, how’s that going to help either of us, God could you  _be_ any dumber, what the  _fuck_ were you thinking?”

“Love you too, Sammy,” Dean slurred.  “Think I’m gonna pass out now, if you don’t mind.”  He was dimly aware of tilting sideways and Sam’s long arms catching him before he fell off the steps.

 

Castiel managed the first hour without much difficulty.  The pain lurked in the back of his mind but he was able to push it away, section it off so that while he couldn’t avoid it, at least he could ignore it.   He paced the room, wishing he could pray.  He rolled his shoulders, stretching his arms.  He was sick of the motel room but knew it wasn’t safe to go outside and draw attention to himself if he had another collapse.

Huffing out a sharp breath, he pulled his shirt and coat on, grabbed his blade and pushed his feet into their shoes.  He felt better clothed, as if they were his armor.  Without Dean’s touch keeping the agony at bay, he’d take all the emotional bolstering he could get.

When the pain hit, it took him to his knees, sucking the air from his lungs. It took him several terrible moments before he realized that this wasn’t the searing throb between his shoulder blades that it had been before.  This was in his left shoulder, in the exact place where he’d gripped Dean and lifted him from the pit. 

This wasn’t his pain.  Something had happened to Dean. 

Castiel struggled to his feet, taking deep gulps of air.  The worst of the agony had faded to a manageable dull ache but he knew the wound Dean had taken was serious.  He had to get to him.  _Now_.

He tried to spread wings that were no longer there and screamed out loud at the pain that flared, curling over on himself and clutching his ribs.  Dean needed him.  Castiel would hitchhike if he had to, or walk the whole way.  He stumbled for the door but he couldn’t make his trembling hands turn the knob. Slamming his fist against the wood, he roared in frustration and rage.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the voice came from behind him. “Oh Castiel.”  There was an ocean of sorrow in the tone.

Cas whirled. Gabriel stood in the center of the room; hands in his pockets, cocky smirk for once missing.

“What do you want?” Cas growled.  “Are you here to make sure your brother’s punishment continues?  Because it does, I assure you.”

Gabriel shook his head.  “Not why I came. Kind of the opposite, actually.”

Cas narrowed his eyes.  “I don’t have time for this. Dean needs me.”

“And you’re going to help him how, exactly?  From where I stand, you’re kind of a train wreck in slow motion, pal.”

Castiel advanced on him with a growl.  “ _I don’t care._  I have to  _go._ ”

Gabriel cocked his head and looked him up and down.  “Well, that answers that question.”

“What question?” Cas demanded.

Gabriel winked at him and before Castiel could react, put two fingers to the other angel’s forehead.  The world went white.

When Cas came back to himself, he was slumped on his knees in the middle of the motel room. He blinked, dazed. Gabriel was gone and Castiel was alone again. He pushed himself to his feet and nearly lost his balance, staggering forward, his wings snapping out to counterbalance him.

_His wings._

Cas stood frozen for a long moment, staring over his shoulder in shock. The world receded around him and he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.  His wings spanned the breadth of the room, brushing the walls on either side, lighting the dim room with their pearlescent sheen.

Castiel pulled them in close, then spread them again experimentally. They moved and flexed with graceful ease, and he realized he had tears on his face.  He didn’t bother to wipe them away; just took one deep breath and vanished from the room.

He couldn’t find the Winchesters with the Enochian sigils hiding them, but he could find the Impala.  He blinked into existence next to it and scanned his surroundings.  Dean was close.  From this distance he could feel him, somehow, like a lodestone tugging at filings. Cas oriented himself and concentrated.  _There._  A house three blocks away, in the basement.  There were seven werewolves in the house itself and they were seconds from tearing through the basement door. 

Castiel pulled his angel blade and appeared in the middle of the pack. He was already in motion during the split second they were in shock and had two down and the third dying before the last four could react. 

If they’d taken him at once, they might have stood a chance at beating him, but two cowered back, away from his bloody blade, and only two tried to jump him. Cas ducked the first one’s wild swipe and rammed the blade home under its armpit, ripping it free and spinning to meet the second one’s charge, slamming the weapon home deep in its eye socket. It slid to the floor, twitching, while the angel turned to face the last two, trapped against the door to the basement and with nowhere to go. 

The larger of the two snarled and gathered itself to leap but Castiel was already there, sinking the blade between its ribs and into its heart.  It twisted as it fell, yanking the weapon out of Cas’s hands, and the last werewolf tackled the angel, taking him to the floor.

Castiel caught the beast’s jaws as they snapped at his throat and twisted up and out, snapping its neck neatly.  It dropped like a sack of flour and Cas shoved it off him to stand up.  Pulling the angel blade free of the other dead monster, he wiped it on its fur and sheathed it before kicking the door to the basement open.

Sam’s gunshot hit him dead center in the chest but Castiel didn’t even slow down. He was down the steps and kneeling next to Dean, out cold in Sam’s arms, before Sam could fire again.

“ _Shit,_  Cas,” Sam sputtered. “Where the  _fuck_ did you come from?”

Cas ignored him, hands assessing the extent of Dean’s injuries.  Blood loss and shock.  Sam had managed to slow the bleeding but not stop it completely and the werewolf had ripped the brachial artery.  Dean was minutes from death.

Cas closed his eyes, praying that Gabriel had given him back all his powers and not just his wings, and placed his fingers on Dean’s forehead.

When he opened his eyes, Dean was staring up at him. 

Sam was still talking but Cas couldn’t hear him.  His world was the awareness returning to the impossibly green eyes of the man in front of him, the lips that were beginning to just slightly curve upwards at the corners.

“Took you long enough,” Dean whispered.

Cas smiled, wide and joyous, and pulled the hunter into his arms, burying his nose in Dean’s neck and breathing in deeply.   He was vaguely aware that Sam had stopped talking and removed himself from the room, but it didn’t matter.  Dean was whole; he was  _safe._

Finally Dean pulled away enough to see Castiel’s face.  “Dude, how are you here?” 

“Gabriel,” Cas said simply.  “I will need to get answers from him, but for now it’s enough to know that I am healed.”

“I’ll say,” Dean said.  “What do you say we get the hell out of here and you can give me all the details?”


	5. Chapter 5

Sam drained the last of his beer and sighed happily.  “Just what the doctor ordered.”

Cas cocked his head.  “What doctor? Do you need to be healed as well, Sam?”

Dean snorted into his own beer as Sam groaned.  “It’s a saying, Cas.”

“Oh.” Cas took another swallow from his bottle and scanned the bar.

“Looking for Gabriel?” Dean asked, scooting a little closer.

Cas shrugged a shoulder.  “I doubt that he will visit us here, but I…have questions.”

“We could call him,” Sam offered.

Cas’s eyes widened.  “No. That is not a good idea, Sam. Calling an archangel when not in dire need is a severe insult and could result in us all dying if he is in a bad mood.”

“It was just a suggestion,” Sam muttered, flagging their waitress down.

They’d made it back to the motel in a bedraggled little group, Cas riding with Dean in the Impala and Sam behind them in Dean’s “borrowed” car, which they’d then returned.  Castiel had itched to touch Dean, to be sure he was really whole and unharmed, but he’d kept his hands to himself, staying primly on his side of the vehicle. Dean had sung along to his music, thumping the steering wheel to the beat, and Cas had had to swallow a surge of wild desire at the sight of those strong hands keeping time. It seemed that having his wings restored had not meant the loss of the more…human…urges of his body.

But Dean had agreed when Sam suggested going to the bar for drinks, and Castiel had followed, stifling his urge to throw Dean on the bed and  _take_  what he wanted.

He sat through the second round of beers, but when Sam called for a third, Cas abruptly lost patience.  “No thank you, Sam,” he said, standing up.  “I wish to go back to the motel with your brother for sexual relations now.”

Sam inhaled the last swallow of his beer, coughing and flailing, and Dean fell off his stool laughing.  Castiel simply stood and watched the two men, wondering if he would ever understand humans.

Finally Dean managed to stand up, still hiccupping, and pounded his brother on the back.  “Don’t worry, Sammy, we won’t give you any details.  But you might want to stay here for awhile and not go back to your room. The walls are pretty thin.”

Sam’s disgusted roar of, “Dude,  _gross!_ ” followed them out of the bar and Dean had to hold on to Castiel to stay upright through his laughter.

“I will  _never_ get tired of that,” he said, and slid an arm around Cas’s waist. 

That was nice.   Dean was solid and warm against Castiel’s side, his arm keeping them close together as they crossed the tiny parking lot.

“Déjà vu,” Dean said when they entered the dingy room.  “Although at least this time we’re not quite as sloshed. Which is probably good considering the things I want to do to you.”

Castiel shivered at the promise in the hunter’s voice.  His wings unfurled, his usual reaction to being unnerved, and Dean’s eyes got huge.  Cas did a double-take.

“Dean, can you… _see_ my wings?”

Dean just nodded, awe on his face.  “They’re so…I never…God, Cas, they’re beautiful.”  He reached out a hand but then pushed it behind his back like a child presented with a treat he wasn’t allowed.

“You shouldn’t be able to see them,” Cas said.  “It seems that we share an even more profound bond than I thought.”

Castiel curved one silken wing forward and brushed Dean’s cheek.  The hunter closed his eyes and shuddered, swaying where he stood.

“You may touch them, Dean,” Cas said, his voice a little unsteady.

Dean’s eyes snapped open and he took a step forward, pressing their bodies together in a long, hot line.  It was Castiel’s turn to close his eyes as Dean’s fingers slid slowly across his feathers, leaving nerves shivering awake where they passed.  Cas imagined that if he looked, he would see sparks dancing across his wings everywhere Dean was touching, but he couldn’t open his eyes.

Dean stroked and teased, wonder in his fingertips, until he came to the strong wing joints. Tenderly, he closed his hands around them, careful not to crush any errant feathers, and Castiel’s head fell back with a long sigh.

“What does it feel like?” Dean whispered, sliding his fingers back down the pinions.

Castiel shook his head, drowning in sensation.   He couldn’t describe it, couldn’t even remember how to speak.

Dean chuckled against his neck and Castiel brought his wings forward, cocooning them both in a world of pearly feathers.  Dean’s eyes widened as they brushed his cheek again, and he turned to bury his face in them.

“Oh God, they… _you_ …smell so good,” he groaned. “Like…incense and myrrh and cloves. I just want to eat you up.”

That was more than enough of that. Castiel vanished their clothing with a thought and Dean yelped. 

“I want you, Dean,” the angel growled, backing him unerringly toward the bed despite them still being wrapped in his wings.  “I want to possess you, own you, claim you down to your soul.”

The back of Dean’s knees hit the mattress and he sat down hard, sprawling backwards. Castiel pulled his wings back so they wouldn’t get crushed and crawled up the prone man’s body, kissing and sucking, tasting different parts of Dean’s anatomy until the hunter was squirming and clutching at Castiel’s hair and arms, begging him to just get  _on_ with it.

Cas lifted his head and smiled down at him, dark and full of lust.

Dean shivered.  “You’d better be planning on delivering everything your eyes are promising,” he said unsteadily.

Castiel dropped his head until they were nearly nose to nose.  “All that and more,” he whispered.  “Always.”

Dean took a deep breath and leaned up, crushing their lips together. It was a needy kiss, desperate and hungry.  Cas gave it back, pouring out the emotions of the last few days, the rollercoaster they’d been on. He nibbled at Dean’s mouth, slid inside and tangled their tongues together.  Dean moaned against him, thrusting his hips up in a desperate plea, pressing their erections together.  Cas laughed into his mouth and sat up, dragging a whimper out of the hunter.

“What are you…?”

Cas laid a finger to Dean’s lips and reached for the lube on the nightstand. Dean’s eyes widened but he stayed silent.

Cas slicked up his hand before leaning down to brush his lips to the hunter’s again. “I want to make love to you,” he whispered.  “Please, Dean.”

Dean groaned deep in his chest.  “God yes,” he husked.

That was all the angel needed.  He nipped sharply at Dean’s lower lip and then slid down his body, settling against his hip. Dean spread his legs and Castiel caught his breath at the sight of him, wanton and  _wanting_.

“Admire later,” Dean growled, voice hoarse with desperation. 

Cas brought a finger up and pressed it against the dark knot of muscle and Dean hissed out a breath. 

The angel had never done this before, but Dean was an excellent teacher. Castiel slipped a finger in up to the first knuckle and Dean’s back arched.  His cock twitched, leaking against him where it rested.  The angel’s mouth watered and he leaned forward enough to lick Dean’s belly.

Dean gasped and grabbed Castiel’s hair.  “So help me,” he choked out, “If you  _taste_ me again, it’s going to be game fucking over before we actually  _get_  anywhere.”

Cas grinned at him and rubbed his face against Dean’s hand, delighting in the long fingers entwined in his hair.  He pulled his hand back just far enough that he could press forward again with two fingers, and Dean’s eyes rolled back.

“Oh my God, where has this  _been_  all my life?” he groaned.  He was making tiny aborted thrusts of his hips, trying desperately not to fuck himself on Castiel’s fingers, struggling to let the angel set the speed.

Cas began to pump slowly in and out, watching his lover’s face.  Dean tightened his fingers in Castiel’s hair, silently encouraging him to pick up the pace, so the angel obliged, delighting in the way Dean’s body clutched at his hand and opened beneath him for the third finger to enter.

Castiel lost himself in the involuntary sounds Dean was making, the smell of sweat and sex, the feel of his fingers inside the hunter.  He was painfully hard himself, but he ignored it. Time enough for that later.

Dean was writhing, one hand still on Castiel’s head and the other holding the mattress in a death grip.  “Please,” he sobbed, “Please Cas, fuck me  _now._ ”

That was what he’d needed to hear.  Cas pulled out, smiling at the whine that dragged out of Dean’s throat, and spread his wings. Dean lifted his head, eyes widening.

“What…?”

Cas didn’t answer.  He just lay down on the bed, settling himself on his back with his wings trailing off the edge of the mattress, brushing the floor on either side.  When he was settled, he grabbed a condom and rolled it on, hands shaking in his haste.  Then he beckoned to Dean, who swallowed hard and scrambled up the bed.

The hunter swung a leg over his chest, straddling him.  His face was flushed, ribs heaving, but he leaned down and kissed the angel deep and sweet until Castiel was moaning into his mouth.

“Ready?” Dean breathed. 

Cas just nodded wordlessly.

Dean smiled and reached back, gripping Cas’s cock for the first time that night. The angel couldn’t stop the moan that slipped out and didn’t bother trying.  Instead he watched as Dean settled himself over his hips, lining up his lover’s cock and then sinking down onto it, achingly slow.

Cas shuddered at the feeling of his cock breaching Dean’s body.  He gripped the hunter’s hips hard enough that he knew they were going to bruise, but he didn’t care.  He was lost in watching Dean’s face.

The hunter was going slowly, sliding down a few centimeters at a time, lush lower lip caught between his teeth and eyes closed.  His head was hanging, sweat beading on his chest, and Castiel couldn’t stop himself from running his hands through the moisture, loving the feel of Dean’s muscles flexing under his caress.

Finally Dean was flush against Castiel’s hips, settled deep in the cradle of the other man’s pelvis.  He didn’t move for several long moments, so Cas kept himself still as well, letting the hunter’s body acclimate to the new sensations that he knew were roaring through him.

Eventually Dean opened his eyes and looked down at the angel, lip still between his teeth.

“All right?” Castiel asked him.  His voice was wrecked with the effort of not moving, not driving up with all his force into Dean’s body, and he realized distantly that he was trembling all over.

Dean lifted himself up a few inches and then slid back down. Both men groaned and Castiel’s fingers tightened even more on the hunter’s hips. 

Dean reached behind himself, bracing his hands on Castiel’s bent knees and beginning to slowly fuck himself on his lover’s cock.  Cas closed his eyes, luxuriating in the feel of Dean’s silken inner walls opening to take him inside and the sweet, filthy drag of his dick against the hunter’s prostate that made the other man shudder and groan every time he brushed it.

It went on like that for several long minutes, until Dean was moving freely, panting with the effort of keeping his balance and rhythm.  Sweat stood out on his skin and Castiel had never seen anything more beautiful.

Finally he couldn’t stand it any longer and sat up, startling Dean’s eyes open. Castiel wrapped his arms around Dean’s body, bringing them flush and sweeping his wings forward so they were hidden in a feathery white world.

Dean’s eyes got huge and he arched his back, the tendons in his neck standing out in sharp relief. Cas couldn’t stop himself from stroking Dean’s skin with his pinions, dragging through the sweaty desire pooled there, and at the same time thrusting up into his lover again, a dirty roll of his hips that left Dean breathless and gasping.

“Oh my God, Cas, what are you  _doing_ to me?” he moaned, matching the angel thrust for thrust.

“Claiming you,” Castiel whispered, and wrapped his hand around Dean’s neglected cock. He began to stroke in counterpoint, loving the tiny whimpers that ripped out of the hunter with each movement of his hips and fist.  His wings covered them completely, blocking out the world.  They existed in their own tiny microcosm, focused only on each other.

Dean sat forward, tilting his hips and changing the angle, dropping his forehead to Cas’s, and reached over the angel’s shoulders.

Castiel gasped out loud when the hunter’s strong hands gripped the upper joints of his wings, using them to balance himself as he rode the angel. He ruffled the feathers with his fingers and Cas squeezed his eyes shut, electric impulses skating over every nerve ending.

Dean’s rhythm broke first, his hips stuttering and his eyes falling shut again. Castiel began to thrust harder even as he stretched up and captured Dean’s mouth, lips and tongues sliding together in desperate need.

Dean sobbed once into Castiel’s mouth and came hard, his seed coating both their stomachs and his entire body convulsing.  Castiel took him through it, never breaking the kiss even as his own hips punched upward and he spent himself deep inside Dean’s welcoming body.

They fell backward onto the mattress, Dean’s face buried in Castiel’s neck. Castiel let his wings relax, draping them across Dean’s heaving body, and let his hands roam, skimming them over every inch of his lover’s bare skin that he could reach.

Finally Dean stirred and lifted his head, smiling a little dopily down at the angel. “For the record, you’re allowed to do that any time you want,” he said, his voice slurred with satisfaction. “And please promise me you’ll bring your wings out to play.   _A lot_.”

Cas couldn’t stop the smile that spread across his face.  “I promise,” he said.

Dean collapsed against Castiel’s side.  “Can’t remember how my legs work,” he mumbled.

Castiel pulled him close and wriggled, trying to get his wings comfortable without being too obvious.  Dean noticed, though, and sat up. 

“Oh God, did I hurt you?”

Castiel flicked a wing experimentally.  “I’m fine, Dean.”

“Yeah, but I  _grabbed_ you, what if I broke your feathers?  Or…I don’t know, sprained something?”

Castiel frowned, confused.  “Nothing is sprained. I am fine, I promise.”

Dean smiled at him.  “Would you let me check?"

 _Oh.  Humans and their need for intimacy._   He was going to have to get better at reading Dean’s hints.  Cas obediently sat up, presenting his back to the hunter and resting his elbows on his thighs.

Dean knelt behind him and Cas shook his wings out, letting them drape across the floor in a graceful sweep. 

“They’re so gorgeous,” Dean said, and traced one long flight feather with a finger. Castiel shivered but said nothing.

Dean worked in silence after that, sliding his fingers through the silken masses, straightening the crooked pinions and smoothing them down with the palms of his hands.

Cas closed his eyes and luxuriated in the feeling.  His skin felt lit from within, like if he looked down he would see himself shining. He stretched like a cat, murmuring contentedly as Dean continued to preen the wings that tumbled across the bedspread in a spray of glowing white.

“I could do this all night,” Dean finally said, “But I think I fixed the worst of the damage.”

Castiel curved his wings forward and examined them.  Every feather was in place, primaries and secondaries lying flat and perfect against each other.  He smiled over his shoulder at Dean, who nodded in satisfaction. 

“Thank you,” Cas said, lying back down on the bed.  He didn’t have the heart to tell him that he could have done the same thing with the flicker of a thought, and in fact was realizing that the intimacy and tenderness of the moment they’d just shared was worth far more than the ease and convenience of doing it himself.

Dean smiled back and eased down next to the angel, grimacing at the sticky feel of lube everywhere. “I should shower,” he grumbled.

Cas smiled a little wider and flicked a finger.  Dean straightened and stared down at his suddenly clean skin.

“Did you just…?”

Cas lifted an eyebrow.  “I am not in favor of anything that involves you leaving my side.”

Dean snorted a disbelieving laugh and lay back down.  “You are going to be  _very_ handy, I can tell.  Even if it does kind of feel like cheating.”

Castiel brought a wing up and rested it across Dean’s shoulders, threading his fingers through Dean’s short hair.  “Dean…” He couldn’t continue, wasn’t even sure what he’d been planning to say.

Dean pressed his lips to Cas’s shoulder.  “I know,” he whispered.  “I love you too.”


	6. Chapter 6

**EPILOGUE**

 

Several weeks later, in a tiny town on the outskirts of Denver, Castiel went in search of Gabriel.  Dean was asleep in the motel, worn out from cleaning up a nest of lamiae and the resulting collateral damage.  Sam was several rooms down, having learned his lesson about taking the room next door the hard way.

Now Castiel stood in an open field under a crystalline dark blue sky. The cold made his breath fog in front of him as he turned in a slow circle.

“Gabriel,” he said in a low voice.  “I have no wish to entrap you, nor do I have any requests of you.  But I would…speak with you, if you are willing.”

Then he waited.  The stars wheeled above him, burning cold and distant.  Castiel stood calmly, still as a statue in a trench coat. 

“I have to admit, you lasted longer than I expected,” Gabriel said, and Castiel turned to face him.  The archangel smirked at him. “I figured you’d start hunting me down the second you got those two meatheads out of that werewolf den, but look at you, nearly a month later and only just now calling me up! I can’t decide if I’m impressed by your patience or offended that I’m that low on your priority list.”

“We’ve been…busy,” Castiel said.  He knew he sounded defensive but he didn’t really care. 

“Oh I know, I’ve been keeping tabs on you three,” Gabriel said.  He quirked an eyebrow.  “How’s Sam taking to the new domestic arrangements?”

“That is not why I asked to speak to you,” Cas growled.

“Oh, of course it’s not,” Gabriel snapped, flinging his hands up. “Honestly, loosen  _up_ a little, would you?  I know why you called me.  You want to know why.  Don’t you?”

Castiel just nodded.

Gabriel shrugged.  “Would you believe I don’t like bullies?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, “But I do not think that’s why you restored me.”

“True,” Gabriel admitted, and grinned at the other angel.  “You’re sharper than Michael gives you credit for,” he said.

Castiel waited.

Gabriel looked up into the night sky and sighed.  When he spoke, his voice was uncharacteristically somber. “War is coming, Castiel. It will ravage this world, and I’ve gotten pretty fond of the place.  Have you ever actually  _had_ a Grey’s Papaya hot dog?”

Castiel blinked, confused.

Gabriel flipped a hand.  “Never mind. My point is, Michael is an idiot. Throwing you out of the garrison was the dumbest thing he’s ever done, but then he always did have his head up his ass. Dean is going to play a major part in stopping Lucifer.  And Dean needs  _you_.  So you see, it was completely self-serving on my part. I was just making sure Dean would be in fighting trim when this whole shitstorm busts loose.”

Castiel considered.  It had the ring of truth to it.  “What do I do?” he asked.

“You’re already doing it,” Gabriel said.  He waggled his eyebrows.  “Keep the kid happy and in good shape, and for all our sakes, do  _not_ let him near Michael.  He’ll screw everything up if he goes after him in some adorable fit of revenge.”

Castiel nodded.   “Regardless of why you did it, I…I find myself in your debt.  Thank you.”

Gabriel winked.  “What can I say? I can’t resist a good love story.”   He vanished with a flap of his wings and Castiel stood for a while longer, watching the stars and thinking.

Dean woke up when the angel crawled into bed with him.  “Your feet are like  _ice_ , dude!” he complained drowsily, but he draped an arm across Castiel’s hips, tugging him closer.

Cas closed his eyes, burying his cold nose at the base of Dean’s neck. Whatever happened, whatever was to come, he had Dean, and that was all that really mattered. They would figure out the rest together.

 

**FIN**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, cats and kittens, is that! Your hits and kudos and comments make me a very happy person. I really didn't expect this to turn into an actual story, but I had a blast doing it. Thank you all for reading! (You can also find me on Tumblr at http://greymichaela.tumblr.com)


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